Autistic Me: What I've Learned Since Being Diagnosed "with Autism" at the Age of 29

When I was diagnosed, I did not know myself. I only knew the projection I was trying to be.

When we know better, we do better - the story of my life.

This is a photo of Lyric dressed in Green for spring. They have bold green, black, and white-winged eyeliner and a green shirt. They are leaning on the RV's steering wheel with their left arm, which has a rainbow watch, and smiling.

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I spent most of my life going about many things wrong (due to misunderstandings about my brain).

Although I am (and always have been) Autistic, I did not know this crucial fact about myself for many years, wreaking havoc on my life.

For almost the first thirty years of my life, I masked my Autistic traits because those around me had convinced me these traits were not there.

Pushing through (denying, hiding, and ignoring) over twenty-five years of regular headaches, migraines, vertigo, disorientation, physical pain, and overloads triggered by the unsupported differences that nobody knew I had.

In my head: “Nobody else is complaining about the lights, sounds, and smells—I’m sure everyone is extremely uncomfortable, and I’m just being a complainer”—as I’ve been called many times. “Better keep my discomfort to myself (no matter how bad it gets).”

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People around me often didn’t understand when I was upset by things they wouldn’t be bothered by.

Meltdowns and other kinds of overloads didn’t make sense when I didn’t view myself through the lens of Autism. I didn’t understand my triggers, how to avoid them, soothe myself, or even what these overloads were.

Without this context, I became known as someone with a volatile temper who could be set off (like a bomb).

The pressures and stresses of the day would build, become too much, and then, eventually (when I could hold things together no more), I would erupt like a shaken soda bottle, hitting everyone around me.

As an adult, this explosive rage, fear, and anxiety became a significant source of shame, so I learned to conceal it, channeling all that anguish inward toward myself, shutting down, stifling, denying, and delaying my feelings.

Not knowing I was Autistic, I learned to act like I was okay even if I wasn’t (because of how little compassion others gave me whenever I was overwhelmed).

Other people felt I shouldn’t be overwhelmed, and I internalized their feelings about how I should feel.

I became a master of holding myself together, disassociating from my feelings, bottling them all up, ignoring them, or (when the feelings overcame me) running away to a private spot to vent my explosive emotions in private.

Lyric in full pink and purple drag makeup, before they came out Autistic or nonbinary.

The Autistic Self Denied

Not understanding my brain for most of my life meant I was ashamed of my differences, especially my weaknesses.

For the past seven and a half years, I have been on a self-discovery journey, trying to unpack, evaluate, and release that shame.

I am on a mission to find my true self (who I was meant to be before I started becoming who society wanted me to be).

The denial of self is a massive part of my journey. It is as if I was lost and had to find and return to myself.

When I was diagnosed, I did not know myself. I only knew the projection I was trying to be.

Learning the truth about my brain was a key to a hidden door, opening the path to knowledge (and memories) I’d partitioned away. The self I thought I’d lost was still somewhere - buried but not dead. I just had to excavate them.

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